


Other Ways and Lives to Live Within It

by donutsweeper



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Fish out of Water, Gen, Introspection, Steve Rogers and the 21st Century, Urban Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-02
Updated: 2019-06-02
Packaged: 2020-04-06 19:01:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19068739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/donutsweeper/pseuds/donutsweeper
Summary: Steve Rogers didn't fit into the modern world, but it was more than the passage of years that set him apart.





	Other Ways and Lives to Live Within It

**Author's Note:**

  * For [saiditallbefore](https://archiveofourown.org/users/saiditallbefore/gifts).



When asked about the twenty-first century, Steve Rogers usually defaulted to commenting about how modern it was. He'd say something along the lines of, "Things were a lot different in my day. I guess it's a little sad that no one seems to remember the Old Ways," before shaking his head and steering the conversation to the wonders of never-ending hot showers and central air conditioning and the ability to buy fresh fruit no matter the time, no matter the season. 

No one ever bothered to ask what he meant by 'the Old Ways;' they always seemed to think they already knew what he was talking about. In a way, their assumptions were right. He did miss the penny candy, the shoeshine boys, the more formal attire of everyday dress, and how the shouts of the peddlers merged with the creaks of their pushcarts to create a vibrancy the city was just lacking in today's hustle and bustle of the always available, always approachable modern world. But the way that things used to be in times gone by was not the same thing as the Old Ways and that was a distinction that never seemed to be picked up upon. 

In this new era he'd found himself in he had yet to see fardels made of hollowed wood and wool scraps burned so that the smoke could be used to purify a room or sigils that had been scratched into thresholds for protection. Buildings were built without any silver or copper coins pressed into the foundation and lunar eclipse came and went without the slightest bit of preparation or fanfare. Oh, sure, some things remained—everyone still said 'bless you' after a sneeze and avoided walking under ladders if possible—but they were afterthoughts, divorced from belief, and done without an understanding to why the acts were performed or what might happen if they weren't.

If Steve wanted to be completely honest with himself he would have to admit that the Old Ways had been already fading by the time he'd been born and had been mostly, although not yet completely, forgotten. The vast majority of the Other Folk had returned to their ancestral lands years earlier, far away from Humankind and its new era filled with uncomfortable scientific and technological advancements and endless wars, but since a few had stayed behind it remained second nature to remove one's hat once indoors to show respect, and, more importantly, a lack of horns since the consequence of not doing so was not worth risking. Of course, it would be impossible for anyone to know all the rules, all the rituals, of all the Other Folk, but if an effort was made it was usually considered good enough; intent and respect were powerful enough to make up for minor foibles.

Steve wandered the city sometimes, looking for the entrances to the Other World that his mother had told him about, but no matter how carefully he peered into corners or whispered unlocking charms at the brickwork, he was unable to find one. It was almost enough to think they didn't exist, that the beings from the Other World had _never_ existed. But, of course, he knew that couldn't be true. After all, he was living proof they had, at one point, ventured into the human world. 

One of the first things he'd done, once he'd realized how long he'd been gone and how his story and myth had grown in his absence, was to research not only what they said about him but also about his mother; she hadn't really tried to hide what she was, no one bothered to back then. He was surprised how little mention of her there was to be found; even the books that purported to be 'thoroughly researched and detailed' biographies of him had perhaps a paragraph or two dedicated to her, usually starting with mentioning how she had been widowed while pregnant and then delving into the difficulties of trying to raise a sickly child on a nurse's salary before ending with a brief mention of her time working in the TB ward before succumbing to the disease herself. 

There was nothing about her true nature.

Nothing about who she truly was.

Nothing about what she truly was.

Or what he truly was.

To be fair people like Steve, those of both Human and Folk lands, were so unusual they were practically nonexistent. Humans and Others rarely shared a deep enough bond to foster the spark required for creating life, let alone managing to combine it with the proper star alignment for conception and the sacrifice needed to enable the birth. Sarah had told him time and time again that losing Joseph to the Great War had been a terrible blow but also a True Blessing, since it gave her him as a result. As was the case with all of those who were not fully human, he was sickly, with eyes meant to see under a heavier sky, a nose developed for different air, bones that grew just a little wrong and developmental needs that were never quite met by the world around them.

But, as his mother always said, his spiritfire burned so brightly that his body refused to give in and his lungs kept working despite the asthma, bronchitis, and pneumonia and his heart continued to beat despite the arrhythmia, rheumatic fever, and palpitations. Through it all he fought for the ability to hear properly, for a chance to breathe without wheezing, for… well, he fought for everything. He fought for the downtrodden, for the weak, for anyone and everyone who couldn't fight for themselves. He was human enough he didn't have anything special he could fight with except to lash out with quick wit and a sharp tongue and when that didn't work (and it never worked) resort to attacking with his fists.

Unfortunately, as his fists were as weak as he was, he lost more fights than he won, but that never stopped him from starting them. He couldn't just stand by and watch when someone was being bullied, he had to do something about it even if it got him beaten up. The books and movies about him always got that part right even if they missed so many of the other, vitally important things about him. 

Occasionally, he ventured into the conspiracy sites— the ones that everyone tried to steer him away from. The various theories out forth on those sites ranged from the implausible to the impossible to the laughably ridiculous, suggesting everything from time travel to alien abduction to body doubles to something to do with radio frequencies (Steve had read that one numerous times, but it never made even the slightest bit of sense to him) to be either the cause or explanation for his miraculous change from a scrawny, sickly weakling to a six foot tall Adonis as opposed to the official story of Vita-Rays and Erskine's serum but, even there, he couldn't find a single one proposing the idea that it might have had something to do with the fact that he'd only been half human to start with. 

Peggy, with her proper British upbringing, never suspected. Stark (Howard, not Tony) was so dismissive of anything not new and modern that he was probably purposely ignorant. Doctor Erskine, however, was a good man and knowledgeable in the ways of the world ( _all_ the ways of the world); Steve thought he might have suspected the truth and that it might have influenced why he'd chosen Steve in the first place, but since discussing such things outside of the home and hearth was simply not done Erskine had never asked him anything about it and, for the same reason, Steve never mention it, so he couldn't be certain.

Bucky had known, of course. It was impossible to live in the tenements and not hear the stories or see the sigils and the smokings and learn at least a little about Other Folk and he'd been young enough, open minded enough, to believe it. Anyone with that kind of knowledge who spent any significant amount of time with Sarah Rogers would have to have been deaf not to hear that there was more to her accent than a soft Irish lilt and blind not to see that her eyes shone with something other than love and motherhood when she looked at Steve and dumb not to understand what it meant when someone faded as their spark of life slowly flickered away and Bucky was none of those things.

It didn't faze him though. Bucky had known everything about who Steve was, _what_ Steve was and hadn't cared. If anything, it made them closer. "There was something about your skinny ass," he'd admitted one night when they'd lain curled together under the blankets in their tiny apartment. "Half human or not, I just knew it was destined to be mine."

And he was right. Steve was Bucky's and Bucky was Steve's, for a short time anyway, until the arrival of yet another war. 

His mother might not have had a choice, but Steve wasn't about to sit on the sidelines while the man he loved went off to fight—and possibly die—without him. He tried, and failed, to enlist and then tried again and again and again. The doctors, despite (or due to) all their schooling and experience, always declared him 4F and not fit to serve after examining him. No one saw past his ailments until that night at the Stark Expo.

After the procedure his ailment were gone, but then no one saw past his strength and shape. He went from being dismissed as useless to being considered only for how he could be used. However, it eventually got him to the war and to Bucky, so couldn't say he minded too much.

In fact, it was great.

He was with Bucky and they were making a difference, saving lives, and maybe even helping to turn the tide of the war.

Being half Other Folk, Steve sometimes saw things in the forests they could use to their advantage. He could see where the liminal lines were weak, which they could use to their advantage since it would make certain spots a little more susceptible to explosives than others, or stronger, and thus ideal areas to camp due to the extra protection they'd offer. He knew which charms made it easier to find dry wood for their fires and how to divinate so they'd always have fresh water to fill their canteens. 

Outside of the Wild Lands and the occasional weakening, crumbling altar still remaining there, they came across few signs of the Old Ways or Other Folk. A result of too many wars and too little regard for anyone different, Steve assumed. Plenty of the traditions could still be seen, but they felt like afterthoughts, reasonless actions done because they had always been done, rather than done with intent and meaning. Thinking back on it from the shiny, technology filled, chrome and glass filled future Steve found himself in, he realized he should have seen it for the sign it was, that the Old Ways were dying and it wouldn't take more than a generation or two before they were forgotten completely.

At the time though, he'd merely found it sad since to him it felt like the Human World was missing a vital part of itself, one that once made it vibrant and rich, vivacious and interconnected, and was duller and lackluster as a result.

When the time came to down the Valkyrie and save what he could of the Human World he considered it a just trade for finally having been given health and purpose. He didn't know if he was of the Other World enough that he would be reborn within it, but with Bucky dead and so few of the Other Folk remaining in this one, there wasn't much tethering him here either.

So he crashed.

But somehow lived.

Did he survive his time in the ice because of the Super Soldier serum? The Vita-Rays? Or was it because of his mother's legacy? He honestly didn't know and there wasn't anyone he could ask.

It had been seventy years and the Old Ways, the Other Folk, were long forgotten. On many occasions he overheard people talking about him, calling him a Man Out of Time, and there was truth to that, but there was more to it. Yes, he had been removed from his own time and placed in a new one, but finding himself in a world that was completely ignorant of half of what made him who he truly was, and to learn that his mother's Kind had been completely forgotten, was even worse. 

Lacking options, without any choice in the matter, he lived in it. 

Until the opportunity of the Stones presented themselves.


End file.
